Remember for Eternity
by Vampiratelvr
Summary: "I was sixteen when the first package arrived on my doorstep." Sometimes, the most frightening monsters are completely and utterly human.
1. Notes from the Devil

_Prologue:_

_I was terrified. I had nowhere to go, no one to scream to. Anybody that could have protected me from the monster in front of me was gone, and I was left alone._

_I stared, wide-eyed, across the room to where he stood, smiling, tall and threatening, over me. I felt so helpless, so doomed. For once in my life, I didn't know what was going to happen next. I couldn't rely on my constant companion, my impenetrable savior.___

_I knew that I had been stupid all those years ago, when I had gone to work with my mom. Then the next day, when I had opened up my door. There had been a long, slim parcel. I had taken the brown wrapping paper and torn it off, like a small child on Christmas. I had been so foolish then, so naïve. I regretted it now, more than anything else._

_No. No, that was wrong. I regretted what was happening now, but couldn't deny that I was glad for what happened. Because if I hadn't gone to work with Renee that day, hadn't opened that package, the life I had known for the past few months wouldn't have existed. And I would rather die than give up what I had gotten.___

_Unfortunately, that looked like what was going to end up happening. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited, hoping to be saved.___

_I waited. And waited._

I was sixteen when the first package arrived on my doorstep. I stepped outside, letting the warm rays of Phoenix, Arizona sun sink into my pale skin. I shut my eyes and sighed, smiling happily at the neighborhood around me. I took a step forward and tripped over an oblong shape on the porch. I stumbled in an attempt to catch myself, grasping at the weak wooden railing that I had screwed to the small deck three summers before. I fell halfway to my knees before I was able to pull myself to a halt, and then I slowly and somewhat painstakingly lifted my suddenly dizzy body back to full height.

Disgruntled, I glared down at the object that had impaired my movement. It was a small box, about a foot in length. It looked the size of a box of chocolates. I grimaced. The last thing Renee needed was more sugar being sent to her. I reached for the package, looking for the return address so I could send it back.

I flipped the box back and forth several times before I realized my search was in vain. There was no address – not mine, nor the return. I frowned. I stepped back inside the house, shutting the old-fashioned wooden door shut with a slight bang behind me. Turning into the coolness of the kitchen, I reached for a knife from the sink. I jerked it quickly under the yarn, snapping it instantly. I set the knife back down, and was shocked when I found my fingers shaking. I shook my head, smiling at my idiocy. There's nothing to worry about, I told myself.

I ripped open the paper. Inside lay a sleek white box. I opened it cautiously, speculating at the possible contents. Something for Renee, perhaps? If that was the case, I probably shouldn't be opening it. It was a useless battle. My curiosity had been aroused, and nothing was going to stop me from opening that box. I lifted the lid, and my heart thudded to a halt, then picked up again twice as fast.

Inside the box lay a note on plain white stationary, thick dark ink soaking the paper. A single-stemmed rose, black as midnight, lay in the center. With trembling hands, I plucked the note carefully from under the thorn-shrouded rose.

_'My dearest Isabella,'_ it read. I gulped – it really was for me, though I had somehow known it all along.

_'You may not remember me, but I most certainly remember you. At the building where your mother, Renee, works, do you recall now? I said hello, won't you come home with me? You responded, like a good little girl, no. But I don't take no for an answer, Isabella. It's only yes, or no answer at all.___

_And by no answer, I mean you're dead._

_But I don't want you to die, Isabella. You're going to be mine. You captivated me that day, and I will not rest until I have made you mine. I'm a very experienced man in these matters, Isabella. I know your name, your school records, your history, your family records…everything about you, Isabella.___

_I also know that you love your mother, Renee, very much. You wouldn't want anything to happen to her, now, would you?_

_By the way, I'm not on record. I don't exist. Not to the police, the FBI, the government, or my own mother. No, I killed her a long while ago. I exist to you, though. Yes, very much so._

_Do you like the rose? I hope you do. It means I love you very, very much. Keep that in mind. I'll send you more like them. Once you come to realize your intense, passionate longing for me, leave me a note in this box on your front step… I will be waiting. I won't just come in and get you…what do you think I am, an animal? No, I'm a civilized young gentleman. I love you so much that I will wait for you._

_Keep this in mind, my darling: I won't wait too long._

_-Stephen'_

My blood ran cold. I wanted to scream. No. This must be kept secret. For Renee. I wouldn't compromise her safety, not for anything. But I can't respond, not now. This wasn't serious.

No, it wasn't. I decided to ignore it, see if this was just a practical joke. It had to be. Nobody who was serious could possibly say something as normal as he did. It simply wasn't what someone like he would say. Nobody said this on TV. Nobody would say something as simple as this. This wasn't serious. He wasn't serious. Stephen. I pictured his face, exactly like that day at my mom's work.

He was a tall, heavyset man, with all the aura of a common street thug. His dark, almost black hair curled, not quite reaching his ears. He was tan, muscular, with the sort of rugged handsomeness that some women admired; not me. His face was squarish, his jaw firm, blackened stubble growing unevenly on his chin.

He had walked up to me, a smile on his face. "Hello, won't you come home with me?" A knee-jerk reaction from me: "No", just as they had always taught me in school, just as my mother always taught me at home. She said that without a father, who lived hundreds of miles away in a small, insignificant town in the farthest corner of Washington called Forks, I would have to learn to fend for myself. She prepared me with self-defense classes – all the normal things, like kneeing a man in the groin, headlock, etcetera. What surprised me was that with this man, I didn't need them. He simply smiled at me, winked, and whispered after me as I turned abruptly and walked quickly away, "You mean 'yes', darling."

But it wasn't serious. I was sure that he was just a normal guy who liked to play pranks. Maybe he was dared to do this, to prove that he could scare a girl easily, or lost a bet, or some such normal, trite reason. Nothing to worry about. I was so sure, because nothing bad could happen to me. My life was wonderful, and nothing was going to change it.

On the other hand, perhaps I was so sure because I so ardently wished that it were not true. Perhaps, somewhere inside me, I knew that this was serious.

I discarded the thought and went back inside, taking the box and the rose with me. It was shoved under the bed, and was soon forgotten.

Ж

My face was shoved into a collection of test papers; it was the end of the school year, less than a week left until I would no longer be a sophomore. My teachers had graded our finals, and I was currently reading through each of the comments on my essay in rapid succession. Making my way up the steps to my house, my foot jammed on something. Sucking in a breath, I took the papers away from my face and stared down at the offending object.

It was long, rectangular. I felt the blood drain from my face – it had been over a month; I had thought his game was over. The essay I had received an A+ on from Mr. Cotzinger fluttered to the ground with an airy feel that I only wished I felt at that moment. I bent down, my fingers unsure. I took the box carefully, pushed open the door, with the back of the same hand that held the package, tossed my bag to the linoleum floor of the kitchen, and walked methodically up the stairs.

The contents were nearly identical. A plain white note, a coal black rose. In an attempt to get the note out, I pricked my finger on a particularly sharp thorn. I dumped the rose under my bed, and then picked up the note and read:

_'My dearest Isabella,_

_I hope you'll understand my disappointment when I have been longing to hear from you in over a month. My baby, my sweet, darling girl, I know that you don't mean to hurt me. You're busy with your academics, your studies. With the finals in Mr. Cotzinger's class, the essay that – with all the studying – I would be surprised if you got any less than an A+ on.___

_Sweetie, remember to leave me a note when you have the time to want me, too. I'm not an impatient man, but my body can't wait that long. It's getting hard to resist coming into your little room in that rambler and take you myself, right now. Feeling you everywhere, all under the covers of your cute little bed sheets. Just imagine, my darling, my baby, what we could be doing..._

_Remember your mother? Well, I know you love her, and I won't make you choose one of us over the other. Because I know you love me, too. So just come to me, my love, and your mother won't be hurt.___

_You're welcome for the rose, though it is nothing compared to the way your skin shines in the moonlight – and that's only your arms! Waiting to hear from you,_

_- Stephen'_

Of course I ignored it. What else could I do? I couldn't tell my mother – he would know, Stephen would know. I tried to suppress the increasing panic in my chest, but it was a useless attempt. I was scared. Terrified. He was a sick man. He knew...he knew so much about me. He had seen my room! But how?

How was I to get away from him?

I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling, trying very hard not to think.

Ж  
>Two weeks later:<p>

_'Isabella,  
>Where are you when I need you most? At night, I long for you. My body aches without you. When will you console this hunger?<em>_  
>Always yours, as you will always be mine,<br>- Stephen'_

Ж  
>Three weeks:<p>

_'Isabella,  
>I am growing pathetically impatient. Do you not realize how much I want you? How much I need you? I have an unstoppable fascination with you, with your body. I love you, Isabella. Come to me. Be mine. Be mine soon.<br>You know that you want me, too.  
>How is your mother? I need not ask. I know. I know everything. You still love her...<br>Time is running out, my sweet.  
>- Stephen'<em>

Ж

Then, the latest one, three and a half months after the first, with the same signature black rose:

_'Isabella,  
>I am tired of this. My mind is uneasy, quickly angered. Come to me now.<em>_  
>Do you not love your mother as much as I thought you did?<br>- Stephen'_

I knew, then, that it was hopeless. Perhaps I had known it all along, but there was no more time for me. For if I waited any longer, he would reach my mother. He would find her, hurt her. Because of me. I couldn't let that happen.

I flipped over the note I still held in my hand, grabbed a dying pen from the pouch I carried to school, and wrote:

_'Stephen,  
>I don't quite know how to say this, but I am ready. What do you want me to do?<em>_  
>Yours,<em>_  
>- Isabella'<em>

I placed the note in the box, lay it on the doorstep, and prayed that Stephen would find it before Renee got home from work. I would do anything to keep her safe.

God must have mercy, because less than two hours after I had put the note and the box outside, the kitchen door creaked open.


	2. The Only Happy Ending

"Bella? Bella?" My mother's panicked voice cut through my carefully placed indifference. I had to bring myself out of the trance-like, almost comatose state I was in. I had set up a shield around myself, hoping to block out everything that was about to happen. But it hadn't happened – my mind was slowly adjusting to the fact that my mom, not Stephen, had opened the kitchen door, and was now yelling for me in panic. To avoid frightening her further, I forced my face to carry a smile, although the weight of it nearly brought me to my knees.

"In here, Mom," I called. "In my room." I opened the door quietly, stepping into the hallway. It was confusing to me – the house was just the same: organized, quiet, my mother's voice chattering away, the sound of grocery bags crunching as she bustled through the kitchen I closed my eyes in relief. I was going to be okay. I was fine.

My eyes snapped open. Who said I was going to be okay? Who said that Stephen was going to just give up? Just because my mom was home...that didn't mean anything. What could Renée do? My breath hitched as the next realization came into my mind: Renée was in danger. If Stephen came while she was home, there was nothing to stop him from killing her. I slipped down the hallway and through the front door, spotting the package at the side of the porch. I grabbed the box and rushed it inside.

After kissing Renée on the cheek, asking her how her day was, - "spectacular" – and helping her put the groceries away, I retreated into my bedroom.

There was another note, another rose.

_'It's all right. I can wait.'_

Ж

Over dinner – spaghetti and spicy Italian sausage meat sauce – Renée was unusually quiet. When I asked her about it, she merely shook her head, unwilling to divulge. Seconds later, she bit her lip – what my mother always does when she's itching to speak.

I sighed. "What is it, Mom?"

She hesitated, then rushed forward. "Bella, darling, don't be mad, but you know the man I've been dating?" She waited for my assent.

I nodded. "Phil." He was a nice enough man, but was too young for her. I didn't see him much because they spent so much time out of the house – Renée thought this would help me to accept their relationship more quickly. She tried to blow it off, saying that it was just a phase, that he wasn't really that important to her, but I knew differently. Sometimes I thought I knew her better than she did herself. Renée was like me in one respect, at least: we were both horrible liars. She was infatuated with Phil, and as much as I hated to admit it, he with her.

I prodded her onwards.

"He asked me to marry him."

The world seemed to stop. I thought it unfair that I just narrowly escaped a dangerous, life-changing situation, only to be confronted with something like this. True, to most people, it may not seem like that much of an issue. It could be quickly recovered from, in comparison to what I thought I had been about to go through just hours ago. To me, though, it was a blow like no other during an already stress-filled period of my life.

My mind argued with me. _It's not an added blow – it solves all my problems!_ Quickly, I accepted this. And then, my heart and mind ever pugnacious, I fought back. _I cannot leave her._

_But she's not in danger,_ my mind retorted. _She and Phil will be in an entirely different state. Stephen can't blame her for this one – it's me he wants anyway. He can't destroy his only leverage. Especially when it won't get him anything._

Despite my heart's strongest arguments, attempting to protect my mother at all costs, my heart and mind were in agreement that it would be more dangerous to stay with my mother and soon-to-be stepfather. More dangerous for all of us - my family because of the immediate exposure brought on by my presence, and me because of my worry for Renee.

So I responded to her as best I could. "Wow, Mom!" I gasped, trying hard not to choke on the lettuce I had been stuffing into my mouth. "That's great!"

She smiled happily, her eyes sparkling with child-like wonder. "I know, isn't it? The way he asked me was so romantic, with the traditional down-on-one-knee proposal," and I smiled and nodded, made little comments here and there, and awwwwed in all the right places. My mother was like a child: very open with all of her thoughts and emotions, wild with excitement, and easily pleased. She was protective of me, of course, but I had always been the one to take care of her, rather than the usual opposite. 

Phil, consequently, was more of an introvert than my mom could ever be. He was more of a careful thinker, so Renee was a bit of a mystery to him. What made me trust him was that he would just sit to the side as her mother talked about her day, with that same happiness in her eyes, watching her. From the intense look he had on each time this happened, he could watch her for his entire life and be happy. If a man can show that much interest in a woman, he was worth it. So my congratulations and my happiness for my mom was completely real.

I only had one regret: that I would leave. But at least this way, with them getting married, I would have left anyway. I did not feel quite as guilty as I know I would have if I left my mom all alone in the house. There was a sense of completion to this, of finality. But for both of us, and in many ways, that was also the start of something completely different. A chance to start over, for Renee. She was getting married again, and I knew she would try her darndest to make this marriage work. I had no doubts for her and Phil - they were beautiful together. She could raise her next child more responsibly; this I thought with a pang in my heart, because that's when I realized I might not always be her only little girl.

With an inward sigh, I let go of my only-child hold on her. It was only her prerogative to have more children with the man she was in love with, especially once her daughter had left to live with her ex-husband.

Charlie. That was a name I thought of a lot, but only for short periods of time. I didn't really know much about him, other than what I learned from the month I spent with him every year. He was nice enough, but he was as vocal about his thoughts and emotions as I was. Living with him wouldn't be bad, not at all, but Forks...living in a town that small after spending my life in Phoenix would be a challenge. Worse than that, it would be torture.

But it was an escape. And that's what I needed.

"I'm so glad that Phil understands about my hesitancy on wedding-planning, after already having done it once before. We're going to do a straightforward wedding, not too much time to plan. Next Sunday at the local parish. I'm thinking about Sarah's place for a dress. Same color as last time, but an all-new décor theme. What do you think?"

"Definitely white again, but I'm stumped on the décor. Probably the traditional flowers..."

"Yes, flowers give off a certain vibe, don't you think? Do you want to go with roses, or lilies? Or-" And I was sucked into marriage preparations.

_Tomorrow,_ I promised myself. _I'll tell her tomorrow. I'll have to leave as soon as they're married._

And as much as I hated having to leave my mom, my best friend, my everything, I knew I had to. To save both of us. And that's what was truly important she would be happy with Phil, and I would be...well, not happy in Forks, but alive, at least. And with my father.

I was determined that my plan would work that I could get away and he wouldn't bother coming after me. And like my mom says, once I set my mind to something, it's impossible to stop me.

Thus decided, I chatted with my mother about wedding plans, though inside I was planning to break her heart.

-

"Come back whenever you want to," Renee commanded, though her voice belonged to anyone but a person of authority. "I'll make sure you have fun, safe stay with us. Stay a week or two." My mother began to have a desperate look in her eyes. "In fact, stay for a few months or more." She was beseeching me, pleading. Don't go, her eyes asked. Don't go.

But it wasn't safe for either of us to be there. My plan took me the closest I could get to a happy ending – saving my mother and myself from an unknown fate brought upon us by an insane stalker.

_Shouldn't that be the only happy ending anyone needs?_

It was with this thought that I got on the plane headed for SeaTac, Washington.

My eyes closed, and I thought of my mother. How much I would miss her for the next...I didn't even know how long my self-inflicted exile would last. I already missed her – her constant smile, young and meaningful. Her warm hugs, her adventurous food. That was my mother – always taking risks. Always wanting the best for others. I guess I inherited that from her. But in this case, the best I could give wasn't the ideal situation. I couldn't give her any more than her life. I had to take her only daughter away to save her.

I wrenched my thoughts away and geared them toward my father. I was much more like Charlie than my mother – quiet, reserved, but always paying attention. Organized and unwilling to let things change. Obviously, Fate was denying my wishes. Forks would be an interesting place to live. I had counted the number of stoplights several years ago – I know there were less than ten. That's including the outskirts of the town, which are basically the entire town. There's one grocery store and a small inn. Those are okay things to live with, even though I'm from Phoenix. In a city that big, sometimes you wish for a release into a smaller corner of the world.

The things I really wasn't looking forward to were really green and really wet. Nothing was what it should be in Forks – that is, brown and dry. Instead, everything was green – the trees, the grass, the moss between sidewalk cracks. Probably due to heavy rainfall. So while the green of Forks might have been beautiful to me at one point, they lost their chance when rain was added to the small town.

I had never had many friends in the first place, so that wasn't something I was worried about. I was just worried...so worried...

Just before I drifted off to sleep, head resting against the frosted window pane of the airplane, the picture of soft black roses filled my vision.

As I slept, I dreamed.


	3. A Curious Trust

_I am in a brightly lit room. I know that it is my bedroom, even though the color of the walls is constantly in flux; it seems as though every paint Renee's ever used appears at least once. I am sitting on my bed in a simple ensemble of black shorts and a blue tank, doing nothing.___

_That is what I find odd. I am always doing something, either homework or helping Renee, so it's strange that my dream-self should be by her – myself. I've never done nothing.___

_Wait. I am not by myself. There is someone with me, in my room. But I can't see them. It's as if they've blended into the rapidly changing walls, morphing just as quickly.___

_I stare with consternation at the wall, and then I can see him.___

_"Hello, my dear Isabella," he says. His voice is as smooth and slick, like slime oozing through a sewer. Or like a snake slithering along the ground, waiting to inject its poison into the nearest bystander. I shudder just thinking of it. There is no hint of a smirk upon his face. "I've been waiting for you – for this." He gestures at the bed, and my heart beats faster. He smiles. "I'm so glad I'm with you. That I get to be with you. At last."___

_No, no. This cannot be happening. I have so much to live for, I have so much to lose, I..._

Do I?

_No one needs me anymore. That's true. I serve no more purpose here, now that Phil can take care of my mother, so there is no reason why I should stay. No one needs me.___

_"On the contrary, dearest, I need you," he whispers, his voice thick. "I need you. I need you so very badly."___

_Stephen reaches forward to comfort me with one large, immaculate hand to stroke my hair. His other grips my upper arm possessively. "I will never let you go."_

I broke into a cold sweat as I was wrenched from my dream. My nightmare. A female flight attendant had her hand on my arm, just where he had touched me. No, I told myself. He didn't. That was just a dream. Just a sick, twisted dream. A dream that was all too real, all too prominent in my already frightened mind.

"Are you all right, Miss?" the attendant asked concernedly. "We're just about to land – and I know it's no fun to be jolted awake as we touch down." She scowled – I suppose this had happened to her on more than one occasion.

Scrambling to get my head together, I replied, "Yeah, thanks." I quickly figured out what my face must have looked like at that point – a sick grimace, twisted into a mask of horror. I hastily wiped it away, replacing it with a dismissive smile. The attendant hesitated, as if she wanted me to tell her what was wrong, but thought better of it. She continued down the aisle, ready to wake the next unsuspecting passenger. Of course, if only she knew what was wrong...

But she couldn't. No one could. My possible safety wasn't worth the potential death of my mother. I wasn't a gambler – I could never bet something like that. With stakes that high, I can't imagine how anyone could.

Minutes later, we landed, and our pilot made some announcement about how he'd love to have us on another flight, and we got off.

I saw Charlie immediately, though his dark blue police officer's uniform was not a standout in the small cluster of people in business suits. I spotted him because he looked like me – shy, introverted, and unsure whether or not coming to live with him was a good thing.

"Dad!" I called out, waving. As my hand left the handrail, even for just that split second, I was caught off what little balance I usually had. I began to fall, but a pair of strong arms caught me tightly around the middle before I could fall all the way to the ground.

My reaction surprised everyone in the small group outside the single airport building, even me. I grabbed my rescuer's wrist and pulled myself free of his grasp. Then, disregarding the rail the rest of the way down the small plane's staircase, I tripped and stumbled to the bottom and into my father's arms.

This was something I hadn't done since before age six, but I did it anyway. It didn't' occur to me until later that it might be odd for a seventeen year old girl to throw herself at a police officer and start sobbing into his shoulder. At that moment, however, it felt so natural. More than that, it felt necessary. I was so relieved to be here, in my father's arms.

Like a little girl, I cried. I was scared, so scared, and like a little girl, I thought Charlie could fix it. Not because he was a policeman – if I thought the police could help, I'd have told them months ago – but because he was my father. My daddy. When I was young, I thought my dad could do anything. I would watch him leave for work during the summers I spent in Forks, waving good-bye through the windshield of his chief's cruiser. I bragged to all my friends – and all of Charlie's, for that matter – that my daddy was a superhero.

Well, to me, he was. I thought he could save the world. Perhaps a part of me still hoped he could.

Regardless, I cried. Charlie patted me on the back awkwardly. "There, there, Bells," he sort of mumbled, like he wasn't sure how to do this. Of course he'd be unsure – Renee and I had left him when I was only one year old. "You'll be okay, Bells," Charlie said. "I missed you, too." That was the moment when I realized – I had missed my dad. Maybe not the dreary town of Forks, but the grizzly, mustached father of mine.

It was good to see him again. Too bad it was under such bitter-sweet circumstances.

The first part of the car ride was, unsurprisingly, fairly silent. Suddenly, about halfway to his house, Charlie broke the slightly uncomfortable quiet with, "I know how hard it is, to be separated from people you love."

I stared at him in shock. I had been counting on him to leave out all personal emotions, but apparently that one prerequisite had just gone down the drain. I choked up a response. "Yeah...well, it's not the end of the world."

Charlie smiled, just a little. "No," he agreed. "It's not."

Not yet.

-

The house was just as I had remembered it – about twenty years old, peeling gray-blue on the outside, but an extensive arrangement of colors on the inside. The kitchen was a bright yellow, and the linoleum an off-white. Kind of like eggs, sunny-side up. Some furniture had been moved around, and instead of three chairs in the kitchen, there was now only one. A TV stood in the adjoining room, its antennae each with a piece of cooking foil attached. "Better reception," Charlie grunted.

There was only one bathroom, and I was not looking forward to sharing that with Charlie. Our schedules differed, so he'd be gone every morning even before I woke up.

My bedroom was the part that had changed the least. Still a pale blue, with slightly moth-eaten curtains (only around the edges). My bed was in the corner, a thick pink comforter draped over the end. A rug, a dresser, and a small bookshelf finished off the entirety of my furniture. That's how I liked it – simple and with a bookshelf. It was perfect. For the first time, I thought I might possibly be happy here.

Then I went to sleep, and I dreamed. When I woke up, I knew that happiness was no longer possible. Not for me.

My dad tried to make me happy, it was obvious – he had even bought me a truck off an old friend down at the Indian reservation. So it was a fifty year old hunk of a Chevy – so what? It ran, and it was free. It also had great bumpers that ensured that this clumsy driver not get killed while inside its boundaries.

This in mind, I headed to school for my first day. I had no idea how it would go – I might be seventeen, but I still had all the worries of any new student. Would I make friends? Would the popular kids like me? Would I be a loner? Would my teachers be nice? Would I get a top locker, or a bottom one? Would I be able to fit in?

Once I had gotten an attendance slip from the office lady, Mrs. Cope, I drove my truck across to the 350-person school's main parking lot. The Chevy protested loudly as I screeched into the spot, and I winced. Great first impression that would make. Of course, all the other kids had cars like this – not all Chevy's, but clearly passed down from generation to generation. Only one car stood out: a shiny silver Volvo that was at least a year old, but still in perfect condition. I sniffed – probably a complete popular jerk. Then I wondered – were there even social classes in a school this small? Or was there one person belonging to each individual caste? I chuckled. My school in Phoenix seemed to be all popular kids, and then you look in a different section of the cafeteria and see all geeks, and so on. I hoped it would be different here – I hate the idea of separation from other students just as good as each other.

My first two periods were tolerable, both with kind, motherly teachers. My classmates were overly curious, highly inquisitive, but at the same time, fairly shy – for which I was grateful. I wasn't in the mood for answering questions. I managed to escape most of the awkward questions, and gathered a few potential friends about me: one a girl with exorbitantly curly hair, and another nearly as shy as myself. I knew I'd be in good company here.

I walked into third hour, discarding my raincoat on a coat hanger in the back of the class. I was a few minutes early, so I sat down in one of the twenty empty seats. Pulling out Pride and Prejudice, a classic I had read countless times, I faded from this world and into another.

The bell startled me out of my book-induced reverie. I glanced at the clock – that was the four-minute warning. I snatched up my attendance slip and headed to the front of the class. The math teacher, Mr. Varner, I instantly despised – for no reason other than the subject he taught. "Isabella Swan," he welcomed me, taking the slip I had placed on his desk in front of him.

"Bella," I corrected him, already having the feeling that I would be doing a lot of that throughout the day ahead of me.

"Bella, then," he agreed amiably. As he handed the slip back, having signed it as we spoke, I shied away from him, immediately flushing in embarrassment. He was just a math teacher, not a stalker. But his hand had been so similar...

Fortunately, he appeared not to have noticed. I shuffled back to my seat, grateful to be in the back of the classroom. To my chagrin, that didn't stop my new classmates from staring at me – they turned around in their seats, eyes blatantly boring into me. Mr. Varner began his lecture, something about logarithms, and I pulled out my notebook. I resolved that, since this new school was sort of like a new start, I would try my hardest at math. I knew that resolutions almost always fall through, but I took notes wholeheartedly anyway. Mostly because I wanted to avoid eye contact with my peers. They just stared at me, the outsider. The alien. I didn't look like what they were expecting, clearly; an Arizona girl should be tan. I, with my translucent skin, was certainly not that. Looking down at my paper to jot down something about how the exponent can switch to make the equation solvable, I noticed a note on my desk.

A shiver ran through my body; I had had enough experience with notes. But, seeing as it couldn't be from him, I unfolded it and read:

_Hey, Isabella. I'm Mike – two seats in front of you, one to the left. Wearing the blue sweatshirt._

I looked up and saw him. He was looking at me, and gave a small wave. I averted my gaze, staring back down at the paper quickly.

_Let's talk after class – I'll walk you to lunch, too. You don't know where anything is, do you? Looking forward to meeting you, officially. – Mike Newton_

I rolled my eyes: I wasn't really looking forward to meeting him, being that he was obviously one of the few popular kids at the school, but there wasn't much I could do about that. Anyway, he seemed like a pretty nice kid, despite his level on the social ladder, so I figured it couldn't be that bad.

The bell rang, Mr. Varner dismissing us from class, and I gathering up my things. "Isabella!" Mike called from the front of the room, hastily stuffing his notes in his backpack. "Wait up, I'm coming!"

He jogged up to me as I stalled for him, and the smile on his face was jubilant. His hair was a dirty blonde, his teeth mostly white. He seemed really nice, if slightly overeager for my attention. Nice enough – something I wasn't expecting here.

"Hi, Mike," I greeted him shyly. "It's Bella." Part of me wished he would go away, part of me prayed he would never leave.

"Hey, Bella, of course!" He smacked himself in the forehead. "I can't believe I didn't figure that out – you look like the nickname type of girl." Nickname type, huh? That's deep. No matter my thoughts, I didn't comment, so he continued chattering away.

I stopped at my locker, my new puppy yapping behind me, and stored the books from my first three classes. Turning around abruptly, I headed for where I thought the cafeteria was. Then a hand was at my elbow, another at the small of my back. "Woah, Bella," he said, pulling me towards him. "Wrong way." His hand was now gripping my arm, trying to steer me toward the lunchroom. Again, my reaction was beyond unexpected.

"No!" I rasped. "No!" This time, it was a whisper. I squirmed frantically in his arms, trying to get away. God, let me get away from him. My mind went blank, and I froze. Then, just like a slide show on steroids, it picked up again. Mom's work, my old school, a note, an A+, a black rose, a smirk. Spinning through my head, over and over. Faster than ever before. I thought my head was going to explode.

"Bella?" Mike asked, confused.

I lost myself. _Hands, touching me. Restraining me. Holding me. Frightened, so frightened. I back away. Something hard – my hand hits it. I cry out in pain. My heart beats wildly. My breath come in half-strangled gasps. I can't breathe. The black rose's thorns prick me, stab me. My skin is torn open. I bleed. I bleed. Just let me go._

"Just let me go!" I was backed up against the row of lockers. My hands were sweaty, clutching at the metal behind me.

Mike was in front of me, hands stretched towards me imploringly. I hastily stiffened my posture, seemingly gaining control. "See you, Mike," I muttered, ashamed and terrified. "Sorry."

"Hey. Hey, wait! What was that?" Mike yelled after me. "Sorry I freaked you out... what's your problem?" I slipped past people in the crowded hallway, just wanting to get away. Just wanting to hide. I should have planned ahead, it should have been obvious. When, while pushing through a crowd, does one not get pushed also? 'Every action has an equal and opposite reaction', as they say. Subsequently, I was pushed. I stumbled, and a hand steadied me. It was cool to the touch, even through my raincoat. Once I regained my footing, I turned to thank the kind person who had helped me. Only, they weren't there. I hesitated, confused, when a pair of dark eyes glared at me from the far end of the hallway.

He was beautiful; indescribably so. His pale skin was whiter even than mine, and his hair was the oddest shade of brown. It more resembled bronze than any brown or red I'd ever seen. It was so perfectly arranged on his head that it must have taken hours to fix, but at the same time it looked natural. He was thin, lanky, but there was obvious muscle under his shirt. His face, however perfect his body was, was even more so. Every square centimeter was perfectly chiseled, like the face on a statue of Zeus. Or Apollo. Or even Adonis. No matter the Greek god, he was gorgeous. I felt weak at the knees – but not for the reasons I should. His eyes, dark as I had noticed before, were a paralyzing coal black. I blinked, and he was gone.

It was in somewhat of a stupor that I found myself as I walked toward the cafeteria. As I entered the lunchroom, I wondered why I hadn't been afraid of the one who had helped me. I was certain that it was the bronze-haired boy, which made no sense. If he was going to give me the death glare, why would he bother saving me from a catastrophic hallway fall?

And why hadn't his glare frightened me? It looked like...like he wanted to kill me. Why wasn't I scared of that? Why wasn't I scared of him, the way I was scared of... him? Of Stephen? What was it about this fear-inducing human that made him different than Stephen? What made me scared of Mike Newton before this pale boy?

What didn't I know? What didn't I understand? These questions ran through my mind, a hundred miles a second, while I ordered lunch. I felt the eyes on my back, felt the curious, judgmental stares.

For some reason, the Forks High School administration felt it necessary to have two lunch hours for the 350 person school. This didn't quite compute, but it turned out that approximately half the tables were vacant. I took one of them.

I glanced around the room, trying to recognize people from my classes. As I scanned the area, I saw him. Them, rather. Four others like him – pale, beauty beyond the imagination, and a cold indifference that seemed to repel other students.

A girl with out-of-control curly hair at the table next to me, one I had met in one of my classes, was whispering loudly to her companions. "See the new girl?" she asked, pointing at me with a discrete quality that Inspector Closeau would have been ashamed of. "She's staring at the Cullens."

I knew she must have been referring to the model-like people in the back of the room, but I didn't see what was so problematic with my staring. Wouldn't anybody? How can you get over something like that?

"Oh my gosh, I wonder when she'll find out?" She was talking again, still in that annoying whisper. "I guess she has no idea who they are." Get on with it, curly-haired girl. Just get on with it. "Like, doesn't it freak you out that they're all a family? I mean, like, they're not related, but they all live together. Like, you know how they're adopted? Yeah, I mean, it's kinda creepy, right? So, it's even creepier that all these teenagers – heck, they don't even look like teenagers – are all together, you know? Cause they're sort of related, but not by blood. By...what, law? Yeah. And they're all dating. Isn't that illegal or something? The dark haired guy, Emmett, with the blonde Rosalie. The blonde guy, Jasper, I think, with the short girl Alice. And the bronze haired one-" I leaned forward subconsciously in my seat, "-Edward, is a loner. I'd like a piece of him. But then their dad is, like, the doctor, so they can't really get in trouble. They're perfect, anyway, and everybody loves them. Well," and here she paused, for the first time in her rant. I found it amazing that she hadn't taken a breath before this. "Nobody has any problems with them. I don't know if anybody actually likes them."

I stopped listening. I didn't need to hear any more. I had heard enough to know that this girl wasn't the best source of information about these Cullen kids. Perhaps I should have been frightened of them, like I should have been the first boy. Edward, I guess. I should have found the Cullens scary, but I didn't. The opposite. I understood them, even in my ignorance. It seemed like they had a secret, too. One they weren't proud of. Something they could never tell anyone. Maybe their secret was different than mine, and for their sakes I hoped it was so, but they had one. So I sympathized with them in their loneliness, in their inability to share their secret with others. Maybe we couldn't share our secrets with each other, but we could share our pain.

If only I could get to know them.

I snorted, clearing up my lunch. Brilliant idea, getting to know the guy who was shunned by the school, the one who glared daggers at you on your first day. But I couldn't get them out of my head. I didn't know how to. More than that, I didn't want to.

I felt like there was something more to them. And that, somehow, I was involved.

I felt the stares of the entire school on my back as I exited the cafeteria, and it didn't really bother me. The five I cared about, however, bore through my back and straight into my soul. As if trying to find out who I was.


End file.
